Treespeaker (21 page)

Dovan flopped back onto the cushion behind him. “But surely it can’t find him, if it doesn’t know who he is?” he asked, his voice full of hope. “There are a lot of people out there who could be Father.”

Her eyes glistened. “It has his scent. That was the only reason Beldror brought it here. To pick up Jakan’s scent. And it found it, over there.” She pointed a long, thin finger at the wall where Jakan had leaned when talking to the elders on the night he left. “He’ll release it tomorrow night. I need to get home. I need to warn the Hudd family, for that’s where he’ll send it first. Hopefully, we can kill it. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

Dovan glanced at Megda, who was biting on a knuckle of her shaking hand, her eyes full of tears. His heart beat fast. Again, help was leaving as quickly as it had come. But he could understand her reasoning. How fast could a rat travel? Could they kill it before it left the forest?

 “But Father must have travelled a good distance by now. It couldn’t catch him, surely?”

“Beldror has guessed that Jakan would keep to the stream. And rats can swim a long way.” Hekja’s voice trembled. She swallowed and shook her head as she played with acorn shells on the table in front of her. “I looked into Grifad’s mind too. He’s like a man with two heads; one part of him does whatever Beldror wants, the other part is terrified. He has no control, just like the rat.”

Dovan picked up an acorn and crushed it in his hand. “I don’t think he’s the only one. So what’s Beldror planning?”

The old woman rubbed her temples with long, bony fingers. “His mind is strong, hard to read, but he wants healing stones, that much was clear.”

“That’s what Kelsha said. But why? Why does he want them?”

Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the dying embers of the forgotten fire. “He’s a sorceror of some sort. Not a strong one, though. I could feel frustration in his thoughts. He wants to prove something. I sensed that he needed the stones somehow for his power.” Her brown eyes opened wide as she turned to Dovan. “He plans to destroy the Veil, but I couldn’t get deep enough into his mind to work out how. Then Arrakesh will be open to the Carlikans for all the resources they crave – and he’ll reap the benefits.”

Dovan trembled. This was what they had to stop? “But we live here. What happens to us in all this?”

“There are soldiers on the way to Arrakesh. Those who obey him will be used as slaves. Those who don’t…” She rubbed her mouth before she went on, as if trying to wipe the words away. “I’m afraid…he intends to clear the forest of more than trees.”

Heavy rain fell as Jakan neared the town of Tomaga towards noon the next day. Though the leather of his coat had been oiled to keep off the water, the cold rain seeped in around the hood and trickled down his neck. His boots, too, were becoming
sodden inside.

He had left the bank of the stream shortly after daybreak and followed a rough dirt track, deeply scoured by the wheels of carts and rapidly turning into a stream itself. The sides of the track rose up to the fields on either side, which were bordered with stone walls. All he could see was the muddy track ahead. Thick, black clouds coming up from the southwest promised no respite from his misery.

Given a choice, Jakan would have avoided the town, but Hekja’s prediction that the power of the stone would decrease over time and space had proved correct. He could feel his energy levels ebbing. This weather didn’t help. The rock overhangs he had been using for shelter provided little protection from this, and last night had been long and cold. He craved warm food and a dry place to sleep.

As he came around a bend, the wall of the town took him by surprise. It stood about ten feet high and was built from huge rounded cubes of the black basaltic rock so prevalent in the area. The top was turreted and he could see only one way in, a huge metal gate, which stood over the road along which he traveled. Jakan was glad to see that it was open.

At either side of the town gate stood two giant carvings, grotesque faces carved in the black rock, with eyes like balls and long tongues hanging from their mouths. Jakan hunched his shoulders and looked at the muddy ground as he passed between them. He had seen nothing like them before, even in nightmares, and he wondered what sort of people would think to decorate their entrances with them.

The low stone circular houses inside the wall stood very close together, and the smell of smoke, rotting rubbish and roasting meat was powerful, even in the rain. Water from the domed roofs flooded the road and he found it impossible not to walk in puddles. Here and there a bedraggled chicken ran, squawking, in front of him. Others huddled forlornly on doorsteps, trying to stay dry. He jumped as a sodden rat scuttled in front of him and disappeared into a crevice in a wall.

Further into the town, the houses became slightly larger and the smell less pungent. A stone-paved path ran along one side of the road. He could see no sign of any villagers. Closed doors and shutters held tight against the rain.

Occasionally now, roads crossed the road he was on, each lined with more houses. Jakan, feeling like a child in a new and strange place, strode on, hoping that he would soon find a place to stay.

At last, he came to a point where the roads were cobbled and led into an open area with a grassed square at the centre. A gnarled tree stood sentinel in the centre, a stunted memorial to what used to be. Jakan could feel its loneliness grasping at his soul, like a drowning man reaching for another who can’t swim in a vast lake. He shook his head.
I’ve to get out of this rain.

On the grass a group of horses, tied to posts, lowered their heads and turned their tails to the wind to bear the brunt of the rain. Around the square, the buildings were more imposing and some had signs hanging above the doors. Maybe here he’d find a place to stay. But though Varyd had tried to teach him to read all those years ago, he had long forgotten anything he had learned and the signs meant nothing to him.

An old man, bowed against the rain, walked towards him. Jakan stopped.

“Excuse me, can you tell me of a place to stay in this village?”

The old man looked up, peering from beneath the hood of his coat. He studied Jakan up and down, but said nothing. Instead, he pointed a gnarled finger towards a building on the opposite side of the square, a large structure with a red sign at the door and a box of red flowers on each windowsill. Jakan nodded his thanks and walked towards it.

The noise that assailed him as he opened the door was unlike anything he had ever heard; a rumble of thunder, rolling on and on. The smell of the place, too, made him reel; a mixture of rotting berries, reeking smoke, and the odour of unwashed, slightly damp bodies. He coughed and covered his nose for a moment. He tried hard to look relaxed, but his heart thudded in his ears. What was this place?

It took a while to become accustomed to the dimness of the room. With the shutters fastened, there was little other light apart from a strong fire burning on one side and a dismal lamp sputtering on the wall by the door. He set out across the room, aware that the noise level dropped as more and more of the people sitting around tables, drinking from metal tankards, stopped their conversations to survey him, a stranger. It seemed a threatening silence and Jakan felt his muscles tensing.

On the other side of the room stood a large stone bench on which rested numerous tankards and jugs. A young woman, her long, blonde hair tied back with a ribbon the same colour as the flowers in the window boxes outside, stood behind the bench, wiping it with a rag. Jakan cast her a diffident smile as he approached. She stopped wiping and leaned on the bench, her blue eyes full of interest.

“You’ve bin out in this awful weather a while, stranger. You’re soaked to the skin. What can I get you?”

“I’m looking for a place to stay,” Jakan said, keeping his voice low. The whole room seemed to be listening in.

The woman pursed her lips, and nodded, before picking up the cloth again and continuing to wipe the bench.

“Where’re you ’eaded?”

“I’m on my way to Garuga, but with this rain…”

The woman stopped wiping. Her eyes flitted between him and the rest of the room. “Garuga, you say? Not many go to Garuga this way. Dralgo lies between ’ere an’ there.” There was a hint of suspicion. Jakan felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the room waited in silence for his answer.

“We can’t always control circumstances,” he said lightly.

The woman shrugged. “There’s a room up the back. It’ll cost you ’alf a vow, one vow if you want meals.”

Jakan nodded. He dumped his pack in front of him, took Roduph’s pouch from his pocket and placed a metal disk in front of her. “A meal would be good.”

Her face impassive, she dropped the cloth onto the bench, scooped the vow into her fingers and dropped it into a pot on a stool beside her. It made a soft chinking sound as it landed.

“I’ll bring you somethin’ in a minute. Drink?” She moved to pick up a tankard.

“Please.”

The woman sloshed some brown liquid into the tankard and pushed it in front of him. “Try an’ find yourself somewhere near the fire afore you freeze to death,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared up a passage behind her.

Jakan picked up his pack and the drink, and turned to survey the still silent room. The only table not being used stood near the door, as far from the fire as possible. He took a deep breath and headed that way, but stopped at a voice from across the room.

“If you want, stranger, you can sit with us.”

Jakan peered through the gloom towards the sound of the voice. Over by the fire, a middle-aged woman stood behind her table, beckoning him with a wave of her arm. He strode towards her, aware of the interest that her invitation had caused. As he got near, she moved around the table and sidled onto the bench next to the man who sat with her. A murmur of conversation began once again in the room and Jakan’s tension eased a little.

“There. You can ’ave my seat. It’s warmer. My, you look like a floor rag that’s not bin wrung.” She fussed with her voluminous green skirt as she sat, her brown eyes twinkling. “You’d’ve bin better off stayin’ home today.”

Jakan gave a lopsided smile and sank onto the seat she had vacated, dropping his pack beside him. He could feel the heat of the fire on his back easing the aches of his body. “I’ve been travelling for a few days. I’m just grateful to have found this place.”

“Aye well, there’s worse places, I suppose.” She gazed around, her nose wrinkled.

Jakan took a sip of the brown liquor. On his tongue it tasted sweet, but it burned his throat and he began to cough. It tasted nothing like the honeyed wine of Arrakesh. The woman opposite him tittered, her long grey hair bouncing on her shoulders.

“Did it bite you? You have to swallow it slow.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.” Jakan took another sip and let it slip down his throat a drop at a time. This time, the effect was quite pleasant.

The woman grinned and dug the man next to her in the ribs with her elbow. “’E’s a quick learner, Elbarn.”

The man only grunted in reply. Jakan looked at him for the first time. He was a big man, about thirty years old, with dark hair, a square, stolid face and a slack, thick-lipped mouth. He stared at Jakan for a moment. Then his brow furrowed.

“Go ’way. Go ’way, dirty Bakshi.” As he spoke in a slow drawl, he placed his large hands on the table and pushed himself to stand. Jakan had never seen anyone so tall. The man leaned over him, spittle splashing from his lips as he shouted now. “Elbie don’t like Bakshi.”

Jakan swallowed and leaned back, aware once again of the silence of the room. By this time the woman had also risen and had hold of the man’s arms. She pulled on them gently, urging him to sit. “No Elbie, he’s not Bakshi.” She cocked her head at Jakan. “Are you?” He gave a quick shake of his head and the woman pulled once again on the man’s arms. “See? Now sit down an’ stop bein’ naughty.”

The man’s head dropped onto his chest and his bottom lip protruded as he slumped back onto the bench. “Elbie don’t like Bakshi.”

“Well, he’s not Bakshi, so behave yoursel’.” The woman turned to Jakan and gave an apologetic smile, as the voices in the room began to lift again. “Sorry. He’s a few eggs short of a dozen.” She tapped her temple as she spoke. “His father were killed in a Bakshi raid, so he’s got this thing about ’em. Where are you from, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

“Arrakesh. My name is Jakan.” He shrugged off his coat as he spoke and lay it on the bench beside him.

The woman poked a finger into her chest. “Griselka, and this great lummock is my son, Elbarn.” She held out a brown, rough-skinned hand and squeezed Jakan’s hand tight as she shook it.

Elbarn leaned forward, staring open-mouthed at Jakan’s throat. “Little bird,” he said. “Man’s got little bird on ’im, Ma. Look.” He reached out to touch the tattoo, but Griselka slapped his hand and he snatched it away, biting his bottom lip.

“It’s my totem,” Jakan said. “A morshu.”

Elbarn frowned. “What’s morshu?”

“A creature that lived in Arrakesh before there were people. It stood nine feet tall, with arms and legs just like ours, but with the head, wings and feathers of a hawk.” Jakan smiled sadly to himself as he slipped into the story he had told the children of the village so often before. Would he ever have the chance to tell it again?

A thin arm coming over his shoulder brought his head up. The woman from behind the bench smiled down at him as she placed a bowl on the table in front of him.

“There you go. Get that into you. That’ll warm you up.”

Jakan stared down at the bowl of wizened meat floating in greasy gravy and forced a smile.

“Thank you.”

The woman nodded and had gone before he had picked up the spoon. A wave of sadness passed over him as he remembered Dovan’s excited description of a place just like this. What he wouldn’t give to have Dovan and Jalena here safe beside him now.

Despite the look of it, the stew tasted fine. Though the meat was a little chewy, it was hot and had been well seasoned, and the gravy had been thickened so that it filled the stomach. As he ate, Jakan relaxed.

“Are you goin’ to Garuga on business?” Griselka watched him eat with interest.

He hesitated. So the whole room knew his plans? “No, I’m looking for an old friend.”

“An Arrakeshi friend?”